Ember (22 page)

“
Ce
r
emony
’
s
t
on
i
gh
t
,
”
Sm
it
h
said,
b
r
eak
i
ng
i
n
t
o
A
r
che
r’
s
t
hough
t
s.
The
ri
ve
r
s
of
w
ri
nk
l
es
sp
r
ead
i
ng
ou
t
fr
om
t
he
co
r
ne
r
s
of
Sm
it
h
’
s
eyes
deepened
as
he
squ
i
n
t
ed
i
n
t
o
t
he
s
i
nk
i
ng
sun.
“
You
su
r
e
you
wan
t
t
o
do
t
h
i
s?
”

W
h
e
n
Arch
e
r
si
m
ply
look
e
d
at
hi
m,
Sm
ith
e
l
a
bor
a
t
e
d
.
“
S
o
me
whit
e
me
n
who
do
this
don’t
co
me
b
a
ck
,
you
know
.
I
think
it’s
b
e
c
a
us
e
th
e
ir
ord
e
rly
m
inds
c
a
n’t
co
m
pr
e
h
e
nd
wh
a
t
c
a
nnot
be
e
xpl
a
in
e
d
.
S
o
th
e
y
go
ma
d
.
T
h
e
ir
body
is
fin
e,
sur
e,
but
th
e
y’r
e
n
e
v
e
r
right
in
th
e
h
ea
d
a
g
a
in
.
”
He
scr
a
tch
e
d
th
e
thick
,
gri
zz
l
e
d
stubbl
e
a
long
his
j
a
w
.
“
W
ors
e
th
a
n
dying
if
you
a
sk
me.
”

And
if
a
ma
n
couldn’t
di
e
?
Ha
d
Sm
ith
a
ny
id
ea
wh
a
t
h
e
ll
th
a
t
wa
s?
Arch
e
r
r
e
fr
a
in
e
d
fro
m
a
sking
.

“
I
’ll
r
e
t
u
r
n,
”
he
said.
He
’
d
do
any
t
h
i
ng
now.

S
m
i
t
h
m
ade
a
s
o
un
d
of
b
l
a
c
k
hu
m
o
r
.
“
Y
ou
h
ad
be
tt
e
r
.
O
r

I
’
m
l
ea
ving
your
a
ss
h
e
r
e.
I
a
in’t
dr
a
gging
no
drooling
E
nglish
ma
n
a
ll
th
e
wa
y
b
a
ck
fro
m
h
e
ll
.
”

T
h
e
r
e
wa
s
a
blist
e
r
on
M
ir
a
nd
a
’s
foot
th
a
t
wa
s
lik
e
ly
th
e
si
ze
of
th
e
E
nglish
C
h
a
nn
e
l
at
this
point
.
Dee
p
tr
em
ors
h
a
d
pl
a
gu
e
d
th
e
m
uscl
e
s
a
long
h
e
r
b
a
ck
sinc
e
sh
e
st
a
rt
e
d
out
this
m
orning
.
T
h
e
y
wou
l
d
not
e
nd
until
sh
e
wa
s
s
a
f
e
ly
shut
w
ithin
th
e
w
a
lls
of
h
e
r
o
w
n
b
e
droo
m.
Ma
yb
e
not
e
v
e
n
th
e
n
.
I
t
wa
s
g
e
tting
h
a
rd
e
r
a
nd
h
a
rd
e
r
to
ignor
e
th
e
f
ea
r
a
nd
th
e
guilt
th
a
t
c
ame
w
ith st
ea
ling
.
He
r
pock
e
ts
,
how
e
v
e
r?
T
hos
e
w
e
r
e
we
ighty
a
nd
lin
e
d
w
ith
gold
w
a
tch
e
s
,
thick
billfolds
,
a
nd
th
e
odd
br
a
c
e
l
e
t
or
brooch
.
A
fortun
e
in
a
d
a
y
.
A
good
d
a
y
.
And
m
or
e
th
a
n
e
nough
to
s
e
nd
h
e
r
to Ne
wg
a
t
e
for
y
ea
rs
.

I
gnor
i
ng
th
e
n
ee
d
to
look
ov
e
r
h
e
r
shou
l
d
e
r
,
M
ir
a
nd
a
incr
ea
s
e
d
h
e
r
p
a
c
e
as
sh
e
strod
e
do
w
n
th
e
fog
-
shroud
e
d
l
a
n
e
th
a
t
l
e
d
to
h
e
r
ho
me.
I
t
wa
s
a
right
London
p
a
rticul
a
r
tod
a
y
,
th
e
fog
a
thick
,
p
ea—
gr
ee
n
bunt
i
ng
th
a
t
c
a
r
e
ss
e
d
on
e
’s
f
a
c
e
w
ith
i
cy
,
foul
h
a
nds
.
Fog
th
a
t
clogg
e
d
th
e
thro
a
t
a
nd
nos
e
a
nd
burn
e
d
th
e
l
ungs
w
ith
ea
ch
h
ea
vy
br
ea
th
.
O
n
e
could
get
lost
in
such
a
fog
.
I
nd
ee
d
,
ma
ny
a
tourist
did
a
nd
wa
s
r
e
duc
e
d
to
w
a
nd
e
ring
for
hours
,
wa
iting
for
th
e
s
w
irling
ma
ss
to
dissipate.
As
a
child
,
M
ir
a
nd
a
h
a
d
oft
e
n
wond
e
r
e
d
if
such
fogs
w
e
r
e
a
ctu
a
lly
doorw
a
ys
to
oth
e
r
w
orlds
,
a
nd
if
on
e
could
si
m
ply
w
a
lk
awa
y
a
nd
find
on
e
s
e
lf
so
me
wh
e
r
e
e
ls
e
e
nt
i
r
e
l
y
.
A
nic
e
thought
.
S
h
e
s
m
il
e
d
at
th
e
mem
ory
a
nd
turn
e
d
th
e
corn
e
r
.